I'm huddled in blankets this a.m.--another long, achy night. On the plus side, my lungs seem excited. I think their agent booked a decongestant commercial.
I know I've been near delirium, but I'm fairly certain my daughter's head spun 360 degrees last night.
Z was over for a play date. When his mom picked him up, he asked if my daughter could eat dinner with them. I was making fresh chicken noodle soup, felt horrible and wanted my family to eat together. Besides, Z's family was having omelets--my daughter won't even eat scrambled eggs.
Z and his mom left, my daughter and I went back in the house and within seconds, I was blindsided.
"I hate chicken noodle soup. I want to eat with Z!"
"Honey, you don't even like omelets, " I reasoned, "They're just like scrambled eggs."
"Omelets are the only way I eat eggs. How do you know what I like? I hate chicken noodle soup! It's stupid!"
I watched in fascination as her head swiveled completely around, wondering if it made sense to put a possessed child on timeout. Deciding to chance it, I sent her to her room. Protesting loudly, she climbed the stairs, subjecting everyone within five miles to the unfairness of her life.
More than one timeout later and dinner ruined by tears--I flashed back to a similar incident between me and my mom. I had asked if my neighbor could have dinner with us, mercilessly wearing down my mom's defenses.
"Please, Mom, please. Michelle's mom is making macaroni and cheese, and she doesn't want that."
"Honey, I'm making macaroni and cheese too." (70s' kids lived on Mac & Cheese...)
That statement almost caught me, but I recovered quickly "But Mom, yours tastes better, because you measure. Michelle's mom just dumps in the milk--hers is watery."
I don't remember my mom giving in that night, and somehow I survived. My daughter seemed perfectly normal again this morning, even solicitous of my cold. So I can safely assume that when she calls me someday in the future, telling me her child's head spun around, I can chuckle quietly and sympathize.